


their unspoken words became their silence

by ayuminb



Series: The Long Night [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Snowed In Trope, Ambiguous Sansa Stark, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dark Jon Snow, Everything is Different - Except Jon Still Goes to The Wall, Except He's Actually Fluffy This Time, Except Jon - Who Dies and Comes Back Different, Except She Really Isn't, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied Feelings, JonxSansaFanFiction 12 Days of Shipping, Post-Canon, Post-Series, The Long Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb
Summary: Jon thinks she does it all out of sympathy; she doesn't. Sansa is just not sure of the real reason.





	their unspoken words became their silence

**Author's Note:**

> prequel to [and we try to fix that which is broken](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13220553). also written for [JonxSansaFF 12 Days of Shipping](http://jonxsansafanfiction.tumblr.com/).

She had only wanted to keep him company, hadn’t meant for them to get caught in the Library Tower, a raging snowstorm having blocked their only way out. _Snowed in_ , the irony is not lost on her.

 

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he says after a while, after watching her pace back and forth near the windows. They’d been lucky, for the Tower still had some wood to keep the rooms warm, to last them ‘til morning. “You shouldn’t have come, Sansa.”

 

“It’s not that, I—” Sansa huffs, but really can’t explain it, her need to be _close_ to him; the pull that she cannot escape, the yearning she cannot ignore. “I just wanted to keep my brother company, is that so wrong?”

 

“Your _bastard_ brother,” he says, matter-of-fact, looking at her intently – it’s _that_ , right there, that _look_ , the way it makes her feel, what has her so very enchanted. “The brother that gets to fuck you.”

 

 _Half-brother_ , the words are at the tip of her tongue, but she swallows them back, knowing them to be a feeble excuse to justify what they do; she blushes, instead, whether in shame or desire, Sansa is not sure. “Jon.”

 

“Come here.”

 

She does, walks closer, one-step at a time, trying to delay— _what_ , exactly? Nothing Jon does to _and_ with her is ever unpleasant, so why the hesitation? Oh, Sansa knows that, _right now_ , it is because she wants to prove a point, prove that she’s not completely lost into him. At his ever loving mercy. She comes to a stop between his spread legs, and given his sitting position in one of the chairs—relaxed for the first time in what probably feels like ages—by all means, it’s Jon the one who should feel _nervous_ , yet she’s the one stomping down the urge to twiddle her thumbs.

 

Grabbing her hips, he pulls her even closer, gently – for all his insistence that she oughtn’t be following him, Jon seems to be perfectly content with her when she does. _He’s purring like a cat_ , she thinks, cannot place another name to the rumbling sounds he’s making deep in his chest. It makes her heart trip over itself, knowing _she’s_ the reason for this… _peace_ that’s settled over him.

 

“You smell so good, Sansa,” he says, nuzzling into her covered belly.

 

The blush rushes up her neck alarmingly fast. “How’s that?”

 

“You smell like home.”

 

There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through her chest, the smile pulling at her lips, a different kind of longing tugging at her chest – Jon sees nothing of this, he keeps rubbing his face to her belly. “You smell like home, too.”

 

Like the burning wood in the hearth, the damp ground of the Godswood and _snow_. Sansa might laugh, of _course_ he smells of snow. Treading her fingers through his unruly hair, she thinks of the last time they were completely alone – oh, it’d been a sennight ago. The second time—the second time she’d lain with her brother, even though she’d said there wouldn’t be another one.

 

But she hadn’t considered _Jon_ and the longing, the aching, he awakens in her; _Gods_ , that first time, Sansa had fully intended it to be the _only_ time. They had done so much as it is, things that make her blush in embarrassment just by thinking of them still—she doesn’t think she would ever forget the look on his face when she’d undressed the first time. The groan of delight when he put his mouth on her, the whispers of encouragement when he’d pulled her to sit astride him. They had done _everything_ and anything they could think of; Jon indulged her curiosity patiently, both firm in their belief that it _would_ be the only time.

 

If only she’d been stronger in her resolve.

 

“Do you remember the day in the stables?”

 

 _When I found you alone and you bent me over a rickety table, when I had to bite my fist to stop the moans from spilling out_ , that goes unsaid, but Jon knows anyway. A gasp escapes her when he slides his hands under the heavy layers of her gown, smoothing them up, up, _up_ her legs. His eyes, dark and hungry, lock on her face.

 

“I remember,” he rasps, squeezing her bum. “ _Sansa_ , what do you want me to do?”

 

His fingers loosen the ties of her smallclothes, enough that he may slip his fingers under the fabric and stroke her— _her_. He asks again, nudging her legs ever so slightly apart and never stopping his attentions, but the words die in her tongue so Sansa takes a deep breath, and quickly begins gathering her skirts up around her hips.

 

Her smallclothes fall to the floor.

 

“ _Sansa_ ,” Gods but the way he says her name, it makes her tremble, “my beautiful sister, tell me what you want.”

 

“I want—” she whines, can’t _say_ it; why must he torment her so when he knows the words won’t come out “— _Jon_.”

 

“Show me, then.”

 

It’s that damnable tilt of his mouth, she’s sure, what makes her react. What makes her tangle her fingers in his hair, lift her hips just so and guide his mouth where she wants it the most.

 

Gods but his breathless laugh _feels_ as sweet as it sounds.


End file.
